


Dragonflight Hospitality

by Laeviss



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [5]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Comp Het Discussion, Cuddling, Forced Marriage Discussion, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Sharing a Bed, Wranduin Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Wrathion invites Anduin to witness the re-dedication of the Obsidian Dragonshrine, but a miscommunication leads the Wyrmrest Accord to believe Anduin is attending as Wrathion's consort. Post-BFA. Written for Wranduin Week Day Six: There Was Only One Bed!
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914982
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Dragonflight Hospitality

The palatial marble walkway circling Wyrmrest Temple’s interior did nothing to shield its mortal visitor from Northrend’s bone-aching chill. To Anduin’s right, its stone pillars loomed like mountains capped in snow, and to his left lay a fifty-foot drop to a dais encircled by open archways. 

When the cold wind howled outside, it kicked up ice into the air that melted on dragon skin but clung to Anduin’s brows and chapped lower lip. He wrapped his wool cloak tighter around his shoulders, but it did little to protect his foolishly-bare cheeks and ears. 

An ache spread from his knee up the back of his thigh and down to the sole of his foot. Sucking in a breath, he focused on keeping pace with his draconic escorts: Wrathion, ahead and to his left, unfazed by the gale whipping at his golden earring, and a red dragon escort to his right, with his jaw set in an unyielding line and his eyes trained forward. 

Neither of them spoke. Only the rumble of voices on the dais below broke through the moan of the storm outside. Like a clumsy intruder at a silent vigil, Anduin held his breath and matched Wrathion’s clicking stride, lest his own shuffle interrupt the rhythm of whatever ritual he had been thrust into. 

When he had accepted Wrathion’s tentative invitation, he had prepared for a new experience, to be pushed out of his element into a society he had only imagined in stories and from the brief words he had exchanged on the topic with Kalecgos as a teenager. He hadn’t expected alienation to strike the moment they crossed over the Temple threshold. 

Pursing his lips, licking to crack in his skin at their juncture, he tucked his arms around his chest and under his cloak. Ahead of him, Wrathion’s curls bounced and swayed over his silver pauldrons. A single snowflake landed on the end of one of the ringlets and melted immediately. Another hit the tip of Anduin’s nose, and he sniffled, rubbing his face against his shoulder to wipe it away.

Their escort stopped before an iron door. Clearing his throat, he addressed Wrathion without looking into his eyes. “Your room, Black Prince—”

“Thank you, Demestrasz.” Wrathion flourished his wrist, tilting his chin upwards and stepping around the crimson-and-ochre hem of the dragon’s robe. The two exchanged appraising looks; Wrathion glanced over his shoulder towards Anduin, and his expression softened. 

Demestrasz followed the Black Prince’s gaze, and, for the first time, addressed Anduin directly. “And you, Prince Consort—”

“That’s—!” Wrathion exclaimed, lifting a pointed claw. “ _King_ Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind, here as a guest on my behalf. I trust this was explained to you in full?”

“It was,” Demestrasz answered without feeling. He reached around Wrathion to clutch a bar-shaped handle. With a tug, metal squealed in a semicircle across the floor, the door opening upon a smaller, but no less imposing, interior. A set of slimmer columns flanked a bed heaped with red silk pillows. A brazier sat, unused and unlit, before a white table laden with wine and two empty glasses.

Wrathion stepped over the threshold, but Anduin lingered in the hall, glancing first at the back of Wrathion’s head, then to the red dragon who refused to meet his gaze. He shifted his weight. Wrathion whirled on his heels at the whish of his cloak against the floor. 

“I suppose this will do for the night,” he murmured with an unimpressed quirk of his brow. “Though I do hope King Anduin’s accommodations are a fair bit warmer. Mortals don’t have our constitution, you see. I am unsure if you are aware.”

“Feel free to light the brazier on your consort’s behalf,” Demestrasz replied. Straightening, he took a step back, leaving Anduin alone to occupy the doorway. “Upon your brother’s arrival, the Dragon Queen will summon the two of you to her court. From there, we will travel to the Obsidian Shrine. Do you have any questions?”

“—King Anduin?”

“If your consort cannot abide in these temperatures, we will call for a second brazier.”

“It’s all right, really,” Anduin found his voice. A blush spread to the tips of his ears, and he shook his head, clutching his lionhead brooch and giving his cloak a tug. Turning to the side, he hurried to stand in the center of the room, at the table opposite Wrathion. 

He glanced at the empty glasses, then lifted his head and forced a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Wrathion clenching his fingers, but he didn’t linger on it, instead addressing Demestrasz with the same gentle resolution he had cultivated when visiting the houses of nobles and allies. 

“This will do quite well, thank you,” he inclined the crown of his head in Demestrasz’s direction. His blond bangs slipped from behind his ear. “We look forward to hearing from Her Majesty.”

“Indeed.” Demestrasz returned the gesture. “Make yourself comfortable, Anduin.”

“Your Majesty,” Wrathion corrected. 

The red dragon shot the black an unfeeling look, which narrowed to hostility when Wrathion followed it up with a hiss and growl in his native tongue. 

Blanching, Anduin stumbled back until his thigh hit the bed. He leaned against it, but didn’t sit, instead shifting from one sore foot to the other, waiting until the dragons concluded their trading of blows in throaty draconic.

Wrathion pulled closed the door. Its metallic squeal echoed from every wall. Anduin opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Wrathion let out a huff laced with curls of smoke. “This lack of understanding is appalling. I am truly sorry the Red Dragonflight decided to take out its distaste for me upon you, my dear.”

Anduin’s jaw slackened. “I really don’t think—” he started, before shaking his head. His blush deepened, and he spat out the question that had been hanging on the tip of his tongue. “Did you tell them I was your consort?”

“What? Absolutely not! I have no idea where they’ve gotten this foolishness.” 

“Uh huh.” Crossing his arms, Anduin sighed. His gaze traveled from the table to the empty brazier, then to a single iron closet in the opposite corner. A bit of black chiffon peeked through a gap in its doors. 

The king approached it, nudging the wardrobe open to reveal two identical garments draped over metal hangers. Blackened steel loincloths the size and shape of those worn by women swimming in Stormwind Lake, beneath sheer black skirts that hung to the floor. A red sash accompanied each, meant, Anduin could only surmise, to be draped across a bare chest. 

His face burned. His eyes flashed as he turned to regard the dragon. 

Wrathion’s slit pupils widened. Taking a careful step forward, he swallowed, his eyes moving between the closet and Anduin’s recoiled frame. His cheeks glowed brighter the closer he drew, but it might have been the light from his eyes playing upon his dark skin.

Anduin’s forehead creased. He tightened his lips after catching one of the dragon’s unreadable glances. The two fell silent for a moment, and then Wrathion quipped, a pitch higher than usual: “Well, I think we can both agree we won’t be wearing that.”

Blinking, Anduin drew back his shoulders. Uncertainty prickled at the nape of his neck. “Then why have you had them bring it?”

“I have not,” he insisted. “Truly, Anduin. I said nothing of our past—that is to say, you were not invited here under false pretenses, at least not by my hand.”

There was a hitch in the dragon’s breath, a quiver punctuating his declaration, that betrayed his honesty. While he had never fully trusted Wrathion, not even when they had curled together as teenagers whispering in the dark, and certainly not now, after Wrathion’s betrayal and subsequent disappearance, he had learned that Wrathion’s lies carried a dazzling smile and a musical lilt. They didn’t catch in the back of his throat like wordless cries. 

With an exhale, Anduin uncrossed his arms. He stepped to the side and averted his eyes towards the untapped bottle of wine begging to be drunk. Brushing back his hair, he walked around Wrathion and over to it, using an opener from his satchel to pop out the cork and pour himself a glass. 

He pressed it to his lips. Wrathion turned to watch but didn’t join him.

When the smooth liquid hit the human’s tongue, the muscles in his face began to relax. His breathing evened, and he didn’t blush as deeply the next time his gaze flicked from the closet to the bed. 

Wrathion padded over on his pointed leather boots, wrapping his talon-like fingers around the bottle. His nails clinked against the dark green glass. “I truly am sorry,” he muttered, following up with an even quieter: “It was likely Kalecgos.”

“Let’s...just make the most of it, all right? I don’t want to create a scene, and I doubt you want to, either. We go to the re-dedication. We stay here tonight, and tomorrow we return to Wintergarde Keep. It isn’t like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The king’s thoughts turned to one night at the start of his fifteenth year, to two boys whispering beneath a blanket they had tented with his cane. The longer they’d talked, the drowsier Anduin had grown, until he had tucked his chin against Wrathion’s chest and dozed in the light of his crimson eyes.

That same vermillion light shone upon him now, but today his stomach plummeted at the thought. He took another swig of his wine and set aside the glass. Turning to the bed, he pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders and added, firmly:

“But I’m not wearing that thing.”

“Nor would I ever ask you to,” Wrathion forced a laugh. His bracelets jingled as he extended his hands and approached the king with a smirk quirking his lips. “For one thing, I think the wind might freeze off your nipples, and I am quite sure you don’t want to depart with those.”

Anduin’s heart jumped. He ground his molars, willing his face to neutral as he studied the pile of pillows. 

If Wrathion noticed the drop in his stare, he said nothing. With a wave, he went on, “These dragons are fools, you know. I doubt half of them have ever spoken to a human. I will see to it you stay comfortable, as my guest, on behalf of the Black Dragonflight.”

“All right,” Anduin replied. Draping one knee on the mattress, he sank down, then turned and settled at the corner. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

“Thank you, Wrathion. And thank you for inviting me to the ceremony.”

“It’s my pleasure, really.” Wrathion took a careful seat on the other edge of the bed. “Thank you, my dear, for joining me.”

Neither of them turned to look at the other, choosing instead to stare at opposing walls as silence descended between them. Anduin toyed with a loose string on his tunic sleeve, and Wrathion tapped his nails against his thigh.

_____________________

A few hours later, a different red dragon rapped on their door and escorted them down to the main dais. After a terse statement from Queen Alexstrasza and an even tenser encounter between her and Wrathion under an archway, she transformed and took off into the graying twilight.

Wrapping his cloak about himself, Anduin prepared to trudge, but with a howl of wings and wind Wrathion caught him behind the knees and swept him over his maw and on to his back. The air whistled in Anduin’s ears and his stomach fell. Wyrmrest guardians and racks of flesh-less ribs became specks in the white blur beneath his feet. Biting his lower lip, he leaned forward, encircling Wrathion’s neck and clinging to the even thud of his pulse. 

His scales swayed as one, warm against the inside of Anduin’s legs. He flew west to the Obsidian Dragonshrine, lowering with a few graceful beats of his wings, then transforming and dusting ice from his silver pauldrons. Anduin followed the path his narrow feet cut through the snow, but diverted to stand next to Kalecgos rather hurrying forward to greet Ebyssian.

'Half-elf' and human exchanged pleasantries. Anduin bowed and smiled at the kaldorei-garbed dragon lingering by Kalec’s opposite shoulder. With that, the ceremony commenced. Touching a black stone altar, Wrathion murmured in a growl far deeper than the lilt Anduin knew. His eyes shone, and he ignited red seams in the earth like a web shooting from his fingers to the roots of the mountains casting their shadows upon them. 

Kalecgos lowered his head, and Anduin mimicked his gesture. The cold wind whipped at his back, but before him, Wrathion’s fire blazed, warming the crown of his head and the tip of his nose. 

Wrathion ferried him back to the Temple, following the colorful trail the larger Aspects cut through the clouds. They shared a meal Anduin assumed had been prepared and laid out for his benefit, and then they ascended the spiral walkway leading to their chamber. 

By the time they reached the door, the air filling the upper reaches of the Temple had grown colder. The door handle bit Anduin’s palm as he tugged it open and slipped inside. Someone had turned down the bed in their absence, pillows heaped in a shiny pile on the floor near the brazier and the red silk duvet peeled back to reveal matching silk sheets. A basin and towel waited on the table the wine occupied earlier that day. 

The wardrobe had been, thankfully, pulled shut, but that didn’t stop Wrathion from turning to it while he rounded the corner and strolled to the far side of the bed. His eyes lingered for a pause, and he hummed, shaking his thick curls and unlatching his silver pauldrons. He knelt, placing the latter on the floor, and then sat on the end of the mattress and kicked off his pointed boots.

Heat rose to Anduin’s cheeks as the dragon’s coat joined his other effects, shuffled off to expose toned upper arms and a thin undershirt with a patch of hair poking out from its collar. Lowering his gaze and turning towards the wall, the king fumbled with the latch of his brooch.

It clicked free, and his cloak slid off his arms with a gentle thud. He undid his belt and pulled it from his waist. His hand strayed to the buttons of his tunic, and he hesitated. A chill crawled from his back to his scalp. Drawing in his shoulders, he froze; Wrathion’s crimson eyes bored into him.

Before his mind could turn to any additional protest, Anduin tilted forward and reached for his collar, tugging the tunic over and off his head. A burst of frigid air swept up him in its wake, and his linen undershirt proved woefully unequipped to withstand it. His skin prickled. His nipples hardened, and an ache gripped the center of his chest. 

He crossed his arms, whirling on his heels and hurrying to the bed, stumbling over his boots as he shook them off at different points on his journey. While most nights he would have taken care to wash his face before tucking in, tonight he was doing well to work his fingers, numb at the ends, under his hairband to pull it free. 

Shaking loose his blond locks, he scooted on to the pillow opposite Wrathion. The dragon glanced over his shoulder. Light from a lantern in the corner framed his curly head like a halo. 

“I suppose now is when I offer to spread myself out on the floor,” the dragon murmured, the corners of his smile twitching. 

“Don’t be absurd.” Anduin frowned. The nip of frigid stone still lingered on the pads of his toes. Sighing, curled them in, bunching up the blanket around his waist and leaning against a marble column framing the bed. 

“This is as much your bed as mine,” he went on when Wrathion paid the brazier another glance. “Really, just turn out the lights and get in. We have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow.”

Wrathion straightened. The tips of his pointed teeth flashed between parted lips. “Thank you, your Majesty.” Shifting onto his forearms, he lifted his hips and brought a hand to the front of his pants. 

Anduin’s blue eyes widened, and his lower abdomen lurched. The dragon’s nails worked free one golden button, then another hid deeper within his fly. He shimmied out of the article, revealing small purple undershorts and slender legs thick with black hair. 

The king’s tongue dried in his mouth. He swallowed, and when he thought he had seen all the dragon had to reveal, Wrathion bent forward and slipped off his undershirt. White and gold silk slid off a lithe back sectioned by mechanical scars. Lean muscles rippled beneath flesh both smooth and raised, as his scales had rolled so fluidly between Anduin’s legs while they had swept through the clouds.

An ache welled in the pit of Anduin’s chest. His gaze moved from the thick ringlets spilling over the dragon’s shoulder to the soft curve of his breast under his collarbone. Tiny rings looped through his puckered nipples; lamplight caught on their curves and cast flecks of light upon the thin sheen of sweat on his hair. 

Clenching his hands in his lap, Anduin fought to breathe. Unmoved by the human’s gaze, the dragon lowered until the back of his head landed on the pillow to Anduin’s right. He lifted his hand, clicked his nails, and extinguished the lights at every corner of the room.

Bathed in shadow, Anduin squeezed closed his eyes and slipped deeper beneath the blanket. He hadn’t realized how cursedly small this bed was until his shoulder brushed Wrathion’s elbow and a stray curl tickled his cheek. He sucked in a breath. The dragon murmured something unintelligible, tucking in his knees, and rolling on to his side. 

Anduin mimicked his stance. His left ear rested against the pillow, and his sore right leg draped over his left thigh. Had Wrathion’s choice of sides been coincidence, or an act of courtesy, he briefly wondered, before the heady scent of ash and patchouli swept through his mind and dragged him into a daze.

Behind him, Wrathion readjusted. The swell of his cheeks bumped against Anduin’s lower back, but his hips swiftly recoiled. The blanket shifted. 

Heat radiated on the human from his hair to the soles of his feet; he drove his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tossed aside the urge to lean into it. Clutching the end of his pillow, he stilled. After a few sleepless moments, Wrathion broke the silence:

“I was pleased, you know, when I learned you had freed Varok Saurfang, and rather impressed, really.”

Anduin cracked open a lid, his forehead creasing between his brows. “Oh?” He quipped through the hitch in his breath. “And why is that? You didn’t chalk it up to my _naievté_?” He cast the final word in Wrathion’s musical tenor. 

Behind him, Wrathion chuckled and clicked his tongue. “As if I have any room to judge the foolish breaking out of orcs, Please! Who do you think I am?”

Anduin arched a brow. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled. The muscles around his jaw relaxed. 

Wrathion continued. If he had felt the shift in pressure upon their mattress, he didn’t turn to see what had caused it. “But really, I was pleased. You saw what needed to be done, and you went for it. One step closer to achieving your goal for peace, no matter the cost. I was...proud.”

Trailing off on the final sound, Wrathion shuffled his weight. His hair tickled the shell of Anduin’s right ear. The king blushed, glancing at the ceiling. He exhaled and replied, “I was proud of you, too, you know, when I heard you had killed N’Zoth. I was relieved for Azeroth, but mostly...for you. It must have been a massive burden lifted from your shoulders.”

“It most certainly was.” The mattress squeaked. The blanket slid an inch or two from the slope of Anduin’s shoulder, and Wrathion’s heel brushed against his calf. 

“And I’m glad to see the other dragonflights accepting you as one of their own.”

“They were quite pleased when I asked if you could join me, you know, my brother especially. He has heard the tauren sing your praises since the day he arrived in Thunder Bluff.”

“Oh.” Anduin flushed. Grateful for the shadows, he turned until his cheek rested against the pillow, and let out a gentle sigh. His thoughts turned to the awkward exchange with Demestrasz at the doorway, ‘consort’ quivering in the air long after it had been uttered. He parted his lips, and his tongue silently formed the word, as if trying it on, playing with how it tasted and felt. 

When he caught himself, his heart leapt, and he rumpled the corner of the blanket in his grip. Wrathion’s heat soothed the small of his back, urging him closer, but he shifted his hips away. 

A cold whisper slipped under the silk duvet and licked at his knee. It creaked as he drew it in to his chest. Clenching his teeth, he inhaled, then exhaled, then muttered into the sheets, “Genn and my other advisors want me to get married, you know.”

For a moment, neither man moved. Finally, Wrathion huffed, and replied, “To whom?”

“Tess Greymane.” The sound of her name leaving his lips spun his intestines into knots. His face went cold.

At his right, Wrathion snorted. Anduin squeezed closed his eyes, and continued, “Or Taelia Fordragon, or pretty much any woman I have ever met. One noble even had the gall to suggest Auntie Jaina.”

Wrathion’s hair rustled against his pillow. Fraught at the edges, his voice jumped in pitch. “And you said—?”

“No. Of course I said no.” He curled his fingers into his palm, gritting his teeth and training his eyes upon the extinguished lamp in the corner. 

Wrathion ‘hmm’ed gently. When Anduin thought the matter had been dropped, he spoke again, with a bite that hadn’t been there moments before. “It could be like this for you, you know. King and queen warming the royal bed. It’s what they expect of you and your station, is it not? Perhaps you would even enjoy it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m sure they are perfectly fine women, but I—” Hearing the quiver in his voice, Anduin tensed, biting his tongue. Despite the ache building in his chest, begging him to burst free, he recalled the promise he had made to himself when he had first accepted Wrathion’s invitation. 

They were to go as friends. As his ‘honored guest,’ as Wrathion had put it— nothing more. He would travel to the Temple out of pure curiosity, for the pleasure of witnessing a ritual he might never get the opportunity to experience again.

His pulse had raced in his ears, and he had hastily scrawled his reply on the same parchment bearing Wrathion’s signature, and he had known what trouble might slosh at the dam holding back a sea of temptation. 

When he inhaled, it itched at the tips of his fingers, and when he let out the breath, it lapped at the tip of his tongue. With every rustle of fabric and tickle of hair, it built in his heart and poured to the soles of his cold-nipped feet. 

Knitting his eyebrows, he drew his shoulder blades tightly behind him. Goosebumps scattered across his skin, but even as he shivered, sweat wet the space between his arm and his torso. 

Wrathion stilled at his back. For a time, Anduin believed him to be asleep. The king buried his face in his pillow, sighing, and shifting until the blanket fully covered his legs. With that, the dragon rolled on to his spine. The dam burst. Anduin whipped around, draping an arm around his waist and burying his face against his neck.

The dragon’s breath hitched beneath his cheek. His skin warmed the tip of Anduin’s ear, and his heart pounded a steady beat the king felt down to his core. His fingers nudged into the gap between Wrathion’s slender waist and the mattress, and the dragon lifted his hand, sliding his claw-like nails through Anduin’s thin blond locks. 

His beard tickled Anduin’s forehead and his sigh bathed the crown of his head in heat, like the oil poured down his brow as a child the day he had entered his covenant with the Light. As it had then, it brought with it a flutter in the pit of his stomach, then a wave of reassurance dripping like honey to melt it away. Tension and reassurance, washing over him in waves.

Anduin tilted his chin, letting Wrathion’s crimson glow light his cheeks. Under him, the dragon murmured, then snickered—though not unkindly. Smoothing his claws down the back of Anduin’s neck, he studied him. His slit pupils swelled, and his soft lips spread to a toothy grin.

The king returned the look, squirming into Wrathion’s embrace. The nest of hair on his chest teased the end of his nose, swaying slightly with every exhale. The golden ring through Wrathion’s nipple caressed the lobe of his ear. He clung to its smoothness, and to the heat of his skin as he drifted into dreams of a blanket tented by his cane and two boys giggling and leaning in for a kiss, their limbs tangled together at the foot of the bed against Tong's finest red silk sheets.


End file.
